The Forgotten Boy's Crush
by professoranethesia
Summary: As he grows "more human", Cole begins to have feelings for Inquisitor Lavellan.
1. Chapter 1

Dress torn and dark, tangled hair - tangled with thorns and fallen leaves. There is a wildness there, sewn into her like the blood writing on her skin.

Hair. Dark, tangled hair, tangled like the roots of a tree, smelling of honey in her tea, cinnamon in her cider, and Andraste's Grace in her perfume. She is beautiful, and her languid smile and lidded eyes show that she knows this, knows she will not be denied if there is something - or someone - she wants.

But that is not her face, not now; eyelids closed, breathing deeply, on the precipice of rest. Yet she shifts and sighs as electricity crawls over her skin, flickers in her palm, exciting itself as she sits, my head in her lap, against the rise of a stone tower in Skyhold.

"You would tell me if it hurts you, wouldn't you, Cole?" she asks so gently, purplish bursts of energy tickling her fingertips. I say yes - mean no - but she cannot hurt me, never _can_ hurt me. Even as humanness breathes sensation into my body, Lavellan is, as a shepherd to a lamb, caged by needless caution for her charges. She is gentle, and kind, and would hurt no one undeserving of it.

She can _hurt_, but she hurts _no one_. She tends, she cares, she _loves_. She soothes and does not falter. She brings light to a world filled with shadows.

I _love_ her, but she... she doesn't see me. She _does_, but she _doesn't_. Not like I want her to.

I hear Lavellan in her room, sometimes, and I'm afraid she's been hurt, but... she hasn't. She's with a man. Before I grew, I felt scared. But now?

I asked her, once, if she loved the men she kept in her bedroom. She frowned at me, asked if I was _spying_. I said _no_. Then _maybe_. Lavellan told me that was bad to do. She said she was fine, that I was too young to understand it. She told me to _stop spying_.

"But to answer your question, Cole, no; I don't _love_ them. Well," she paused, stumbling over words, "I love everyone. It's important to love everyone. I just don't love them like _that_. Not like a man loves his wife."

"How does a man love his wife?" I asked. Lavellan's eyes, dark clashes of angry blue and spring lavender, flickered back and forth.

"A man and wife take care of each other," Lavellan answered. She sounded unsure, _was_ unsure. "They're best friends, but they also… make love. Do you understand, Cole?"

I said no. Lavellan sighed. "It's just something you'll have to feel for yourself. When you do, you'll know."

_Heartbreak. A long, slender man with a bow. A hunter. Blood writing staining his face. We were promised to one another, but he died. We made love in the forest, hiding from the rest of the Clan. Happy memories stained red. Neralan. My fault._

"It wasn't your fault," I sputtered, trying to stop myself. She didn't like it when I read her mind. But she didn't yell; not like before. She seemed sad. "I'm sorry," I said. She pet my head and smiled sorrowfully. I couldn't help her; she didn't need to be helped.


	2. Chapter 2

Back hurts. Legs cramp. Blue and black and grey and white. I want to move, to run. Lavellan frowns. "Stop wriggling, Cole," she says, not angry. Firm. She gives me _that_ look.

"You can't blame the kid," Varric says. Shrugs. "I don't like getting my portrait painted, either."

"I want my hat," I say.

"Then the painter won't be able to see your face. What's a portrait if we can't see your face?" Lavellan's smile is cold, skin stretched like fabric; too tight. Anxious.

"But my face isn't _me_."

"The best artists can capture someone's spirit in a piece," Lavellan explains. "A good artist can paint a body; a _great_ artist can paint a _person_. Any one can paint Empress Celene, but only a choice few can paint who she _truly_ is - the fierceness in her brow, the easy elegance in her posture, the majesty in her bearing." Her voice has a mystery - the way her lips move around the words. I sit up. I _listen_. "Every flick of the brush, every line and crease, it all paints a picture of something bigger, something beyond what our eyes can see, something greater than just _us_." Her words arc lightning - thought to thought, mind to mind, shivering and brightening and _bright_. Silver flashes in blackness. Exciting, tensing, shallowing.

Varric makes a joke: "I didn't realize you were such a patron of the arts, Inquisitor." I want her to continue, but the lid is off. The building has stopped.

I feel angry, but Lavellan presses her palm to my fingers, pale against paler, and the lightning starts again. Static in my ears, on my skin. "All he has left to do is the background. Do you want to see how it looks?"

I think no - say yes - and she guides me behind the easel. I don't like it. It looks too much, too little, too same, too different. "What do you think?" she asks.

"It's strange," I say. Maybe it's funny, and she laughs.

"It's a spitting image, kid," Varric hits my back. I try to smile and be nice like he says I should. Lavellan shimmers, and it makes it easier. "Where's it hanging when it's done?" Varric asks.

"In the hall outside my room, I think,"she says. _She's thought about this_, I realize. It scares me, but I don't see why.

"I'll have to come see it sometime." Varric hits my back again and leaves. Lavellan stays and looks.

I have a question, but Lavellan is looking. I look at her, she looks at me; a _different_ me. She likes to look at me, but only a picture of me. Varric said it's rude to stare, but Lavellan stares. She stares at me, a reflection of me. I felt her anxiety, but now it was gone.

She looks at me looking at her. I feel her smile deep in my chest and neck. "What is it, Cole?"

"Why do you want a picture of me?"

I feel her fretting, but I try not to feel her feelings - Lavellan said _don't do that, not to me, anyway_. I try not to, but her thoughts are _loud_, a frantic, frenzied, feverish fear following and swallowing her.

_If he leaves, if he leaves, if he leaves_ -

I try not to listen. I try.

_If he leaves, if he leaves, if he leaves_ -

"For posterity's sake," Lavellan says. I don't understand; her words are thin. Veil stretching over truth. Almost there, to reach through, to grasp, just obscured under ice, a sheet, a shimmering light -

_He can't make people forget, not anymore. But if he leaves, if he can, if he does..._

Ah.

She was afraid of me. No - for me. Afraid to forget, to forget forgetting. Afraid that I would… that I...

But a picture doesn't forget. A picture doesn't vanish. It would stay, until it didn't.

I wanted to tell her, to promise her, but I didn't. She didn't like it when I thought her thoughts. But I let her hand touch my hand. I would feel real for the both of us.

I would have to _grow_.


	3. Chapter 3

Lavellan sleeps. I watch, sometimes.

It was easier, when I could fade. When I could make her miss me. I sat on the sofa and watched. She had nightmares, sometimes, and I tried to help - opening a window, easing her mind, helping her sleep. Now, it's less easy.

Once, something strange happened. I... woke up. I never slept before - didn't know that I could. There was a blanket on me, and Lavellan…

She sat at her desk, humming. She had seen me, she knew. I was afraid, but she wasn't. Sitting in silence, staring, lips pressed against fingers, ink stained. Dark, tangled hair. Smelling of cinnamon. Smelling of -

"Sorry, did I wake you?" she asks, and I wonder if she did.

"I don't know."

A smile, slow and serene, touches her face. She's happy, but why? "Did you sleep well?" She moves to my side and fusses - moving hair, touching skin, smoothing cloth. The air is cold, I shiver, and suddenly the windows are shut. Flame flickers in her palm, dulls to embers, presses against my neck.

I know what I want, then. Racing, pulsing, frightened feeling - air heavy like smoke, liquid burning in my skin. I had felt others' wanting, but to feel the wanting tear through was... suffocating. Gasping, reeling, a shudder down my spine, a rattle in my skull -

"Cole? Is everything okay? Did I burn you? My fire spells aren't that good," Lavellan sputters, startled, scared, but her feelings barely penetrate. My thoughts are too loud, too narrow. It frightens me.

"I - I need to talk to Varric," I say. Lavellan yells after, but I'm in the hallway. My face is in a frame, but I don't see it. I need to be gone. I need to leave.

* * *

In front of Varric, I cry. Everything feels too sharp. Everything hurts. Muscles tender, stomach aching, lungs rasping. Varric says to eat, and I eat. It makes me feel better. He tells me about eating and drinking and things I never thought to think.

"Falling asleep must've started everything else," he says. I tell him about Lavellan, and he frowns. "You should probably keep that to yourself, kid." It sounds like he's laughing, but he isn't. He hits me on the back. "It sounds like you've just got a little crush on the Inquisitor. Nothing to be ashamed of, but I wouldn't say anything to her about it. I don't think she'd be too receptive."

"Because of Neralan."

"Neralan? Is that someone I should know?" Varric wonders, and I tell him what I knew. What I heard. He looks sad. "I, ah, didn't know about that. Even more reason why you should keep this to yourself."

"But what do I do?"

"The same thing anyone does when they have a crush on someone not interested: absolutely nothing," Varric snorts. I tell him I don't understand, and Varric sighs. "All you can do is be nice. Be her friend. Don't know if that'll help anything, but it's worth a shot."

It hurts, but I try not to cry anymore. It makes Varric sad.


	4. Chapter 4

For days, I try to talk to Lavellan, but I can't. I'm hurting her, but her shadows scare me, shake me, shame me. I try to make sense of it, but there's no sense to be made. I try to do what Varric said - _keep it to yourself_, but I worry. I see her, and I feel it again: the burning, the wanting. Everyone feels it - a part of them, an itching underneath. But it frightens me. I don't want her to know, but don't know why.

I go to Dorian; he said I could ask questions. When I find him, I ask what I should do.

"Cole, if you're looking for advice, you've come to the right place," he purrs, books slapping shut. "I happen to be a _master _of seduction. So, who is it that's caught your eye, hm? One of the servants? A chaste, kind-hearted village girl with the voice of an angel? Go ahead, you have my _full_ attention."

"Inquisitor Lavellan," I say.

Dorians laughs, then frowns, then laughs again. "Well, Cole, you certainly are... _ambitious_. I don't think there's a man in Skyhold who hasn't at least taken a look. If I didn't know any better, I would say she even _likes_ the attention." I tell him about the men in her bedroom. Dorian looks… proud. "Really? Here, I thought she didn't have it in her. Good for her. Now, what were we talking about again…? Ah, yes, the Lady Inquisitor. Look, Cole, you have to think about what _she_ sees. She finds you endearing, of course, but she doesn't see you as a _man_. To capture her heart, you have to make her realize that you are a man that can excite and _captivate _her."

"I… don't understand," I say, and Dorian sighs.

"You never do, do you? If you want to impress Lavellan, you need to be an _exceptional _suitor. Charm her, flatter her! Tell her she's beautiful or something equally sappy. She'll like that."

"But Varric said I should keep it to myself."

Dorian scoffs. "Varric sees you as a child, Cole. You're like a son to him; the conversations I've heard you having with Bull would make his ears blush. Varric is just trying to protect you, but _you_ have to make your _own_ decisions. You have to take your fate into your own hands!"

Varric calms, but Dorian incites, excites, fanning fevered embers into flames, bright and blinding. His light reflects, mirrored, infectious. It makes me laugh.

"I _should_ take my fate into my own hands! _Thank you_, Dorian!" I stand up, but sit back down. "How do I do that, exactly?"

Dorians laughs, too. "Good to know my inspirational speech worked! Generally, they doesn't work out _that _well… regardless, you have to do what _I_ do. Puff up some. Don't be afraid to draw attention to yourself, as long as it's _good _attention. Show the Inquisitor that you have matured into a man and she will be throwing herself at your feet."

"But... I don't _want _her to throw herself at my feet."

"You're not good with figures of speech, are you, Cole? Nevermind. The point is that you have to _woo _her. Clean yourself up and give her a flower. Dalish girls love flowers… probably, anyway."

"I'll do that," I say. Bright and bashful, stomach sick, but breathless. Brave. Thoughts twist together, turning and tearing, tugging. Varric or Dorian? Dorian or Varric? I try to think, but I can't. If it's wrong…

I have to get it right, the first time.

"I should wear green," I say. Dorian smiles.

"I think that would look quite dashing on you, Cole. Just try not to be _too _forward. Women _love _an air of mystery."

I nod. "Thank you, Dorian. I will _try_."


	5. Chapter 5

A wet, weepy, wistful sound sounds. I follow, but I don't need to. Pain emanates - a familiar, forgotten pain. A second heart.

She sits still, silent, solemn. "Lavellan?" I call. I see her, but she doesn't see me. Sometimes, she doesn't want to see me. She frets at my voice, frightened, afraid to listen.

"I've never gotten into a fight with a spirit, before," Lavellan says. Legs dangling through limbs, brittle bark bleeding knees, sitting in a tree. The Fade shimmers around her, whispering, ready to be _made_, but she doesn't see it. She sits, wet face, swollen and scared.

She is… _beautiful_. Dark, tangled hair, tangled with twigs, tangled with -

"Are we fighting?" I ask. "I don't want to fight."

Lavellan looks away. She doesn't want to see me, fears what I might say. "You haven't said a word to me in _days_, Cole." Her words choke on her tongue.

I stop. I think, but I don't understand. She thinks I'm mad, but why? I hold out a flower. "I… brought this. For you." Lavellan looks and her tears dry. "Do you... like it?"

She stares, sun comes out, stars shine - she smiles. Then grins. Then _laughs_. "Cole, I... I love it, but what - what are you _wearing_?"

I look down and wonder. "Green?"

A hand over her mouth, skin glimmers blue, feet on grass. "Is that… Varric's shirt?" she asks. "Did you... _paint _it?" I nod, and Lavellan smiles. "But… _why_?"

The air sings, shivers. Lavellan is happy, lightning lapping fingers, glittering and light. I feel proud, happy that I make _her_ happy. "You like the color green," I say.

"It's a bit short on you though, isn't it?" she asks. "Aren't you cold?" Fingers twist over gold loops stained green, snagging, dragging, brushing skin. Warm and bright, burning breaths, a thread stretched too tight, static in my ears. Lips on my cheek, arms winding - "Thank you, Cole." Black knots of pain shudder and stretch, ache to be undone.

But my own thoughts are too loud - the hurting, the wanting, the itching underneath. Something stolen leaking empty; water pushing through the cracks, drowning, pulling outward through the narrow. Sinking downwards, thoughts sliding through the slit.

_Smelling of honey, smelling of_ -

But Lavellan doesn't see. She smiles and turns away, flower in her fingertips, glimmering gossamer. She is beautiful, but… more. Cinnamon and satin, shadows hiding in the spaces in her chest. She will be sad again. I didn't _help_. I... _forgot_.

"You're sweet," Lavellan says. "You remind me of Kieran. Have you met him? He's as cute as a button."

"Kieran?" I ask. Suddenly, the strings run backward. I'm shaking, I'm - "But he's… _little_."

Lavellan laughs, but the sound doesn't make me happy. "He is, isn't he? He's such a gentle boy, though. Just like you," she smiles, finger prodding into my side.

I remember Varric, _don't think she'd be too receptive_, and Dorian - _a child_, _like a son_. I wonder. I feel _sick_.

"Am I like _your _son, Lavellan?" I ask. Maybe I sound wistful, weary and she stops, stares.

"Maybe not like a _son_. Maker knows I'm too young for children," she laughs. "Maybe more like a little brother." Shrieking, shrill, my ears burst. Skin cold, eyes shut, somewhere, buried inside. She blinks, and I feel her worry begin to expand, to bloom into life. "Why do you ask, Cole?"

I don't _understand_. I tried to be a man, like Dorian said. But it was wrong. How was it wrong?

I want to hide in my hat. I want to disappear, but I can't. I'm _trapped_. Solas was right, Varric was wrong, and right again. I try to speak, but I can't. I'm… I…

Wracked, wrought. _Wrong_.

Lavellan sees me, sees into me, but I try to be happy. For _her_.


	6. Chapter 6

At Skyhold, people see me, painted, and laugh. It makes Lavellan mad, but I hide anyway. Lavellan tells Varric, and he finds me. I give him his shirt back. He sighs.

"You're still covered in paint, kid," he says, and he is right. Green skin, but red face. Varric hits my back. "Alright, tell me what happened. What did you say to the Inquisitor?"

"Nothing," I say and sigh. "I was wrong, Varric."

"About what, kid?"

"I'm not very good at being human."

"Come on, this is what being human is all about! Awkward misunderstandings, rejection, it's all a part of getting older. Trust me, I haven't always been as smooth as I am today."

It makes me feel better, but I don't know why. "I shouldn't take it personally; I haven't been human for very long?" I try, and Varric nods.

"Exactly! You need to give yourself a chance to figure things out, kid. Just don't sell yourself short. Think of this as a learning experience."

I feel sad, but better. "I'm sorry for painting your shirt," I say. Think. "I thought it would help."

"How _did _you get it into your head to do that? Did someone _tell _you to do that?" Varric says - narrows his eyes. He's… angry, but it's… shaded, shallow, cinders leaving embers. I understand, now; he _wants _to be angry, to find the rock that that rippled the river.

"It's not the rock's fault," I explain. "Sometimes, rivers just _ripple_ \- how else will the current carry?"

"_English_, kid," Varric says, but I _was _speaking English. "Now tell me, yes or no: did someone tell you to do that to the Inquisitor? I can't imagine you coming up with that on your own."

Lying _hurts_ people, but telling the truth hurts my friend. I try to think, but it's hard. Lavellan said it was bad to lie, but I want to help Dorian. It wasn't his _fault_, but Varric would _make _it his fault. Varric would hurt Dorian, but Dorian was helping! But... lying _hurts _people!

No - if I lied, it wouldn't hurt. It would help Dorian, and Varric doesn't have to know. It _won't hurt him_.

"No one told me to do that," I say, but I do it wrong. Shaking, scared, unsure - sounds shuddering in and through. It doesn't sound right.

"Did… you just _lie_?" Varric asks. I say yes. "I guess you really _are _getting a hang of this human thing." He is _proud_ \- no more anger, no more fear. I _helped_.

Varric was worried, but he didn't have to be! I was learning, seeing more, feeling more, roots of a tree growing outward, upward, restless, ready for rain.

* * *

Energy, in and out and _through_; star sounds, static skies - Lavellan said it was a party, like the one where everyone changed their faces and tried to hurt each other. That scared me, but she said I didn't have to worry.

"This is a happy occasion, Cole. There won't be any assassination attempts tonight," she said. "I can't believe it's already been a year since the Inquisition defeated Corypheus. Is celebrating something like that very strange to you?"

"Should it be?"

Lavellan laughed. "You just don't always have the best grasp on things. I thought you might need me to explain it to you."

"A party - a funeral for fears," I said. "It makes sense."

"A funeral for fears? Well, that's _one _way to put it." She smiled, but sometimes smiles aren't sincere. They hide the shaking parts, and everyone pretends not to see.

* * *

_**Note**__: a couple of people asked me for tips on how to write in Cole's perspective, so here we go. It's easiest to write Cole if you study the mannerisms / speech patterns of young adults on the autism spectrum. Also, try to describe things without actually saying the word - Cole isn't very in touch with his more complex feelings. Things like "sad" or "happy" are easy to understand, but feelings with nuance fall into more of a grey area. Pretend you could see a feeling, and then describe it like that. Also, shorter sentences when he's anxious / tense. Drop off a lot of pronouns. Keep the same sentence structure in bursts. And alliteration, alliteration, alliteration! That's about it. Thanks for the support, everyone!_


	7. Chapter 7

That was before. Now it's vivid, lights on strings on trees. Pulsing and pressing, pink skin flushed, twisting and turning and taut. So many people in one place - how do they know where to go? Bodies diffuse in and out - dancing, laughing. Charged air stimulating, scintillating, silk slick with sweat.

I try to find my friends, busy bees brightly buzzing. Everyone is proud. Varric entices, entertains, Vivienne stands above, the Left Hand smiles and stalks. Cullen is crowded, Blackwall talks to Josephine, and she laughs. Dorian and the Iron Bull disappear. And Lavellan is… Lavellan -

Lavellan looks up and gives me _that look_. She comes to the stone and sits on the stairs. "I would come up the battlements, but these heels are not very forgiving," she laughs.

"If they hurt you, why do you wear them?"

"It's a girl thing," she says. "You wouldn't understand. So, what are you doing up here? Don't you want to join the party?"

"There's a lot going on. It's better to watch," I say. She nods, understands. "Are _you _having fun?"

"You're _asking _me how I feel?" Lavellan smiles. It makes my heart hurt. "That's new."

"Varric said it was better to ask, so I don't scare people," I explain. Think. I remember the green shirt - bloodless, burnt, battered - but I want to _try_. _Charm her, flatter her_, but when? Dorian didn't _say_. But…

The air is right - words flutter, flicker on skin, intangible and inexact. Swells, swelters, sugary sweet. The words move through me. A puzzle, a particular pattern. A dance, but I don't know the steps. The first knot to untangle with shaking fingers in the dark.

"You're very pretty," I say, and she is - hair dark, untangled, caressing shoulders and shimmering silk, violet like her eyes, the lines on her face. Bright enough to cast shadows, but cold, stark - lightning in the night sky, distant and untouchable, but close enough to hurt.

She smiles. "Thank you. Vivienne introduced me to her tailor. Turns out she _does _have good taste, after all."

"It's not your dress. It's something more - a light, liquid lightning. Stars shining, candle in a window." My words were catching, hooked and heavy; Lavellan raises an eyebrow. I try again. "You… _glow_, Lavellan. Bright, brilliant, beautiful - _better _than beautiful. A thousand thoughts thundering, but the spirits crowd around the Veil to see the shadow of _your_ face tonight."

Gears turning, a fleeting, fond feeling, fear fleeing as she _looks_, sitting still. "Cole," she says, waking wonder, "are you... _flirting _with me?"

I think, then say, "Yes."

Electricity electrifying and elevating, she frets, falters, fumbling - holds out her hand. "Well then, would you have this dance?"

"I don't know how to dance," I say.

"Come _on_," she laughs, takes my hand. Velvet shoes on the stairs, stumbling up the steps. "We can go to the battlements. That way, you _and_ I don't have to risk being embarrassed." Laughter, breathless laughter, scurrying over snaggled stone, pushing past - up and over.

"Now, Cole, dancing is easy," Lavellan says, lightning licking skin. "Put your free hand on my my side- no, your _other _free hand; there's you've got it. Now, I'll put _my _hand here, on your shoul - are you ticklish, Cole? Stop squirming! Now, all we have to do is move."

"But how do I move?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter," she says. "No one is watching."

It's slow, stumbling, shy, but sincere, at first. But the form fades, less rigid - relaxed. Hands slide on silk, rest on ribs. Heat rises, a closeness - she had forgotten. Phantoms sewn into flesh, fighting to fly free, but she holds them so tightly. Secrets in a forest, forbidden, frantic feeling, feverish, following through.

I wasn't able to help before - it was harder to think, fanning flames. But I'm ready, now.

"You're thinking about him," I say. "Neralan."

"Yes," she gasps, head down, hearing my heart. A beat, then, "Can you see him, in my thoughts?"

"Yes - eyes like spring, hair dark - black or brown, you can't remember, like feeling through a fog."

"It's been a long time," she says. "Even then, I still miss him, even now."

"You miss him, but you don't. Burnt, afraid to feel, afraid to fly, to fall. You wish you wanted to forget, but the hurting is easier. Fear is your friend, familiar. It's… _hard_, to let go." Lavellan is quiet, heavy heart, but it's right. I can _feel_ it. "Neralan is dead, Lavellan, but _you _don't have to be. You can be _alive_, living, _light_. Let _love _protect you - not _pain_."

Tears in her eyes, dead parts fall away - she is _free_. A hole, hollow, but better.

Now _she _can grow, too.


	8. Chapter 8

Things are different, now. Nobody says it, but they notice. Lavellan is lost, listless, but full, feeling, no longer faltering. She isn't happy, but now she can _be_ happy. Isn't it wonderful?

That's what I try to tell myself, anyway. It's… hard, sometimes. She smiles and I feel sad. It's hard not to wonder, to wish, to _want_ \- something bigger, something brighter, an honesty in earnest. Salt in a lake, sugar in her tea - sweet, but unsatisfying. Teeth ache, twist, seeking the unsought. But Lavellan sees it - smiles softer, looks linger, fingers follow. I don't understand, but Varric does.

"She's toying with you, kid," he says. Head shakes, oil in a barrel - muscles tense, taut, tearing, bones crushing, kneading at the knot. "Don't let her play with you. She's just trying to get a reaction."

"Have I been giving her a reaction?" I ask.

Varric sighs. "No, I guess not. I just didn't know if that was on purpose, or you just being oblivious." He chuckles.

"She likes the attention, but I like it, too; she doesn't _have _to know," I say.

Varric laughs deep in his belly. "Ha, so you _have _learned! You're getting good at this, kid!" I don't understand, but Varric is happy, and that makes _me _happy.

* * *

Lavellan finds reasons to touch, tenderly tethering together. Dorian said to pretend I don't notice, but I do. Body betrays skin, shudder softly, a silent song singing in the sun. Fingers on flesh, over fabric, following forward, falsely finding then falling away.

"It's a woman thing," Dorian said. "Men are _much _more forward. You have my sympathies." I wonder if that's true. Dorian and the Iron Bull seem happy.

Lavellan speaks of nothing, says everything, and everyone sees secrets that don't exist. She doesn't help - legs across my lap, lips curled like a cat. She touches, teases, and they stare, shocked - _certainly the Inquisitor has better sense than to pet her pet demon, don't you, my dear?_ It's hard not to hear, but I try.

She frustrates me, but I frustrate her, too. Standing on stone, sinking soundly, _how do I get out?_ _Too proud, too polished, too little power_. Idle thoughts, fickle fancies, infuriatingly unfamiliar - standing in the shallow, _can I go deeper? Should I?_ _Dive, and it's done. What if I can't swim?_ _Can't see down, dip my feet far enough - will I find the bottom, or will the bottom find me? It's too _far. Lavellan catches me looking and sticks her tongue out, but I don't understand.

I want to make her happy, but it's hard - _I_ want to be happy, too. I can see the strings that tie our knots together - too tight to tug, to tear, terrifying but tantalizing. Close enough to touch, to tease, but far, forbidden, fearful. _Does understand? _Can _he understand?_ Hanging on a hinge, torn in two, intrigued but interred.

* * *

Lavellan is shy, I realize. Curious, but contained, careful. When she forgets, she wonders, worries. A sudden shock - _what if he _can't _feel it? He told Solas _ -

"I couldn't at first," I say. "But now I can."

"Are you reading my thoughts again, Cole?" she asks, walking ahead.

"Yes, but I don't have to," I say simply - Dorian said to say that. Lavellan is red, and I wonder if it worked.

Dorian has good advice, sometimes. He's subtle - sees the shadows and knows how to shape them. I try to learn, but it's hard. Everything is intertwined, overlapping, darkening and dividing. _Wait until the timing is right_, but how do I know? How does he?

Some things are easy to understand. Uncertain, uncommitted, so I should be, too. Encourage, but never envelope. Put the blade where it needs to be, and it cuts cleanly. Wind the words with care, and they care, too. It makes sense, but sometimes it doesn't. Stones across the surface - how do they know when to jump?

It's frightening, but exciting. Like dancing. Thrumming, throbbing, light and loud, music moving while moving to music. Lavellan smiles, doesn't say, but differs, defined and denied - futilely fighting for control of the conductor. It's… _fun_.

Pressure builds, pushing, pressing - too late, and air escapes, empties. Too soon, and it's shallow, sorry, substanceless. _You have to wait for the perfect moment_, but how will I know? Will it come to me?

Dinnertime, distracted - Lavellan looks, stalks in a circle, smiles and stares. Varric spins a story - everyone laughs. Fingers in my hair, Lavellan leans, smelling of cinnamon, breath burning into bone. "Will you come up to my room after dinner?" she says, and it's spiralling, soundless, spine shaking and skull splitting. Lightning in lungs, bidden and bound, breathless and bewildered. Is this it?

Did I win?


	9. Chapter 9

Stone steps, shivering through skin, hair standing on end. Through the door, a thought - _is the timing right? Does it matter? Will he - will I -_ relent and release, rigid and rough but... ready.

She waits.

But for what?

Door slides open, heart standing still, standing in silk, streaming - a dress, draped and dragging, dripping down. Water on a rock, slipping and sliding. I want to look, but I… _can't_. Probing, prodding, pressure rising. _Water in a dam_, pressing, plugging, pushing it down. No relief, no release, not ready. Not _right_. A heady scent, heavy - smelling of cinnamon, Andraste's Grace, and something else, something strange; a candle in the corner.

"It's lavender," she says, smiles. Lavender like her dress, her eyes, lightning in her hands, shaking soundly on both sides. "Do you know why I invited you here, Cole?"

"I - " Voice shudders, scared, startles into silence. What do I say? Will it be right? _So_ _close_, but brittle, ready to break or bend. "Yes," I say.

"I want to know _you_ want this, Cole," Lavellan says, hands holding hips. "If this is too much for you… well, we don't have to do anything you don't want."

"Yes," I say, "you wouldn't like that."

"No, I wouldn't." She sighs, sits. "So, Cole - what _do_ you want?"

"I want _you_," I say, "but… more. It's hard - thoughts too narrow, needy, _needing_, but…"

"But?"

"I… _love_ you. I want it to be _right_."

Lavellan looks, eyes wide, wondering, wandering, waiting for the wanting. I feel her fretting, face frowning, heart hammering, heavy. "Cole, I - "

"I know it's wrong," I say. "You want lightning, longing, loving and then leaving - feelings unfounded, forgotten, but that's not _me_. Two pieces apart, weathered and weary, crooked and cracked. It could be better, but it's what I want."

Tears stream down her face, strings snag - she is sad, but she has to be. Sometimes, helping hurts more.

Small, shrinking, shaken - "Will you stay?" she asks, tongue thick in her throat. "Just for a little while. I - " Frozen, afraid - s_wallowing, spitting me out, spinning, spiralling down. Crushing, crippling, walls closing in._ "I don't want to be alone."

"You _aren't_ alone," I say, sitting, stroking silk down her spine, small of her back. Tears trickle, staining shirts - she's pretty when she cries, when she shows the soft, scared pieces, the ones she wants to forget.

Gentle. Arms enveloping, insistent, and she presses against me, warmth in cold places. She is softer, smoother, showing and shimmering, thawing through the blood and bone. Laying back, sheets smelling of honey, swimming in silence, suspended- so much to say, but staying soundless, _still_. Emptiness, absence of air, but feeling full. Breathing heavy, hot against my face - shaking and slow. It's different now - fighting through a fog, feelings fraying, forgotten. Why did I want to stop? Blood burning, blistering, burrowing down and out and _through_. It's familiar, foreign, an itching underneath and the instinct to _scratch_, to _relieve _\- the rush and release.

I want to fight it, to forget, to flee from the feeling, but not tonight.

Tonight, I want _her_.

_**Note**__: the "Rated T" curtains close here, but if you want to keep reading, I made a separate one-shot with the fun stuff, so feel free to check it out! Next chapter is the last chapter, guys. As always, thanks for reading!_


	10. Chapter 10

Thirty-seven days - six spent in bedded bliss, barriers between night and day diminished. Every morning, facing her face, I was... _happy_. Fear forgotten, brilliant and bright, beginning, _blooming_. Lavellan looked happy, laughed, and I loved her, began to wonder and wish - _what would happen next?_ She sat, my head in her lap, against the stone rise of Skyhold, and we talked. Hands in my hair, sleepy soundly, sitting silently, or not. It was good.

But I felt her feelings, fading fast. Wine in a broken bottle, bubbling, burbling, but where was the leak? _I can find it, let me find it, let this last_, but it didn't - dropped, dripping down until there was nothing left. She said she needed time. Time for _what_?

Alone - lost, lonely, people passed but I heard nothing. Too much noise, too many knots. I hid, tried to forget, but I couldn't. It hurt too much. It _hurt_, it -

I felt her _happy_. She was relieved, released, ready. Why wasn't she happy with _me_? Wrong piece, but it fit, felt right. I loved her, but it didn't matter. Why?

Spirits shape the Fade with feelings - love and loss. We change and it changes, too. I thought that feeling would be enough, but it wasn't. I was wrong. I could love her, but couldn't change her. I could heal her hurt, but it wasn't her hurt that hindered her - it was something else.

She didn't love me because she... _didn't_. It wasn't something that I did.

_It wasn't my fault_.

* * *

Dress torn, dark, tangled hair, Lavellan sits, smiles, snow stinging skin, smelling of honey in her tea, cinnamon in her cider, smoke and sandalwood burnt in the barn - Blackwall. She said she needed time, but what she found was… _him_.

We were fragile, fast to fade, ephemeral - a flash of fire, then forgotten. She frets, feels guilt, but for her, it's better. Blackwall is strong, simple, and _not_ a spirit - she's happy, and that soothes the shattered parts, pieced together but imperfect, a picture of a person. Varric said it would be okay, and it is, but…

A secret, heavy, hidden in the damaged dark - _will anyone want me?_ A knot too tight to tug loose - my own. I want to help, but I can't. Too close, confined and caged by burning blackness, broken shapes spinning, shuddering - _singing_. A soft sound in the silence, nearly sundered, shadows in a distant dream. Remembering makes it better, brighter - _do you want to go back?_ Being human hurts, hollows - a spirit shape is easy, easing fear by fading and forgetting. Solas said that was me, and he was right. Pain is hard. But…

Loving, lifting, learning - I understand more, see the strings that tie together. I am afraid, fragile, fearful, but I have friends - _family_. Lavellan is lost, but the love is left, living, letting me grow. I am hurting, but happy.

I'm… _human_, and I _like _being human.

What do you think I'll learn next?

* * *

_**Note**__: thanks for reading, everyone; I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did! I love writing Cole, so I can't imagine this is the last thing I'll write with him in it. If any of you need helping writing for him too, or have any particular requests, feel free to let me know. In any case, happy reading!_


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